


In Red

by pentuppen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Spanking, basically shameless iron bull smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:33:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8130506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pentuppen/pseuds/pentuppen
Summary: Set before the events of the Conclave.
The Iron Bull and Trevelyan meet on the battlefield and not for the first time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay first of all i apologise if this ends up being bad fic. I wanted to try another writing style and while i like it....well the proof is in the reading i guess, so feedback would be good.
> 
> I wrote this in one night while hopped up on energy drinks.
> 
> Forgive me (Said in best cullen impression)

They meet on the battlefield again, and this time their on the same side. Same contract, good money and she’s all but lost the cocky strut that had come with being young and skilled. A few subtle lines at the corners of her eyes show the toll of years between then and now but she still grins like a shark just before the signal to attack is given.

She’s quicker than before, more muscle, more experience, the same enthusiasm, her every move an economical gift of pain and he’s almost proud.

The first time they met he broke her arm because she was relentless and stupid and brave. He walked away with a contract unfulfilled that day because she wouldn’t stay down and he could feel the eyes of his men upon him.

The second time they met she had thanked him and he’d known without asking that the gratitude wasn’t for her life. They travelled in the same direction for a day, it only took him three hours to succeed in making her blush.

Now she is the temporary nemesis of another nameless group of thugs, he knows she likes it that way, bad people meeting bad ends, no names to remember or faces to haunt, just the heft of powerful steel and the cathartic burn of muscle being put to good use.

Blood sprays fine as mist, peppering the proud tilt of her jaw and he notes that she looks good in red.

_Really_ good.

He meets them head on, his axe sweeping, cleaving, parting flesh to bone, a dragon rising from his throat to launch ahead of him, making them feel it down in their boots, her valkyrie cry riding alongside it. 

They keep count. He wins.

She hands over the promised sovereigns, he hands them back with no words while watching her careful expression, a suggestion still burning with battle fever and hot want in that lone eye. She doesn’t say no, she doesn’t say yes, she’s gotten good at saying nothing, almost good enough.

Ben-Hassrath remember.

He reaches out slow, giving her warning and time enough to step away, she doesn’t move, even when rough fingers settle gently around the base of her throat. He dares because that is who he is, she stands her ground because that is who she’ll always be.

She will feel every callous as his hand slides up the length of her throat, stroking her pule in passing until finger and thumb meet the base of that blood touched jaw.

She blushes, calls him a bastard and this delights him. She’s turned her back on all the money and titles but she’s never lost its mark on her tongue and he can just bet that she even says ‘please’ like a Lady.

He leaves her to decide, always their choice.

The sun ripens over the lake by his tent, apricot ripples and the seething fragrance of blood lotus. Boots slide off, brace set aside, feet resting in cool water. Pretty.

She comes to him unarmoured and unarmed and he fluctuates between wonder at her trust and the realisation that idle curiosity is swiftly changing to _want._ They talk, no rush, idle subjects between friends, she needs to relax, what little shyness she possessed showing itself in a shifting glance.

He also needs time.

Time to appreciate how he has never seen her without the armour. 

The modest covering of leathers and tunic do nothing to hide her shape from his careful eye. Hips full and rounded, perfect to grip, generous tits and an ass that all but silently begs for an open palm and biting fingers.

But it’s the hair that finally does it for him.

The thick copper rope has always been tucked into her armour, a hidden piece of vanity still left over. Now with every gesture of her head it swings back and forth, a hypnotising pendulum, its tail end brushing the small of her back just above the swell of her backside.

He wants to coil that copper rope around his fist again and again and this thought goes straight to his cock in a rush of blood and heat.

They drink a little and talk a lot, he watches her mouth as she speaks and wonders how her lips would look in red.

She runs out of stories to distract and silence slips amongst them, fogging the air with expectancy. He lets her wait just a little longer because he likes the way she’s starting to chew on her lower lip.

Those apricot ripples have given way to a silver calm by the time he reaches over and grips her jaw, she gifts him with a momentary startle in pale blue depths until those eyes narrow, suspicious, jawbone rigid beneath his fingers.

He explains the rules and she thinks she understands, he’s all but certain she doesn’t but that's okay, he’s happy to teach and he has given her a word.

The word makes her smile, he aims to make her scream.

He has her sit up on her knees, steps drawing a circle about her while he contemplates her posture before kneeling down, big hands gripping her knees and parting them, displaying her without revealing just yet.

He takes his time with the buttons to her tunic, she makes an impatient noise, attempts to move his hands and do it herself. Thick fingers seal around wrists, he pulls her hands down to rest upon her thighs. 

“You know the rules. Do it again and i will hurt you” It is the softest of promises and she keeps her hands still, but he see’s, still Ben-Hassrath.

Pupils widening, chest expanding, a miniscule twitch at the corner of her mouth, a smirk suppressed. 

He knows she will buck again, she will want to test him and that's okay too, it’s who she is and he intends to posses all of her if it’s just this once. The tunic is brushed away, he takes his time, takes her in. The scars leave stark statements across tanned skin, he watches one shift as she breathes in slowly.

He touches the largest where it begins, just below her breast, follows its curve to the opposite hip where it curls like half a question mark. It was meant to be a killing blow, he doesn’t ask, she is here and that's enough of an answer.

He tastes the weight of her breasts in still-gentle hands, thumbs ghosting over nipples, skin twitching but her mouth is closed to the sounds he wants, her eyes daring him to impress her. She’ll make him force her to sing and that's all right, she still thinks this is about winning, he’ll fix that.

Taking his time here is a pleasure, fingers tugging and rolling stiffening nubs, she still fights her voice but her fingers are curling, digging into her thighs. He doesn’t relent, dragging calloused palms over sensitive buds, pinching hard enough to sting, blood flowing to excite tormented nerve endings.

She’s squirming now, tiny movements but their present and only now does he grip the base of that copper rope, slowly pulling, making her back bend. She’s on display now, firm flesh pointed towards him, nipples swollen and straining from her flesh, all but begging for his mouth.

He grips one, fingers constricting, holding her there until the numbness creeps in, watching certainty fall from her face like dust blown from the cover of a book. His fingers part and only now does his mouth descend on her, the stinging flow of blood returning as he sucks and flicks at tiny, hard flesh.

She whimpers, and his eyes tilt up the length of her body, watching the snake-quick flash of her tongue as she wets her lips, it makes him want to tear aside his own pants and fill her mouth. His fist tightens in her hair, tongue flicking over the abused centerpoint before he bites.

She swears at the sky and he grins against the firm meat of her breast even as fingers capture the other nipple. Her sounds are small but she can’t hide them now, not when his mouth is soothing throbbing flesh. He sucks hard, bites again when she sighs, the sound turning into a yelp and he can feel her arms tense with the need to move.

He calms her with long strokes to those rigid arms, fingers tracing the ball of her shoulder, a different texture here where teeth have left their vicious ring, old wound, probably demon. Her body is like his, a canvas for the twisted white lines, each one holding a story, if there were time he would have made her tell him all of them.

Fingers move to a crescent shaped scar just under her ribs and she stiffens, a hand snapping about his wrist like a steel trap. Their eyes meet and the fear isn’t quick enough to escape hers before her expression turns apologetic. He’d touched a story, touched a nerve, he could push it but he won't, not tonight at least.

It’s a part of her past that's still too raw, he can understand that. He gives her something else to think about.

“I _did_ warn you”

Those words are almost regretful, but demons cavort in that one eye and he yanks her over his lap. He has to be fast, she’s strong and now she’ll buck because it’s new and she’ll think she is losing. Too used to being the strongest.

It’s hard to struggle when she's on her stomach but she gives it her best, jerking at her wrists as he gathers them, one hand forced to grip hard, the other already fighting squirming hips to reach the ties that separate the last of her from him. She snarls when the lacing loosens, he laughs and shifts his hips just enough for that shameless bulge to brush against her side, letting her feel what her struggles accomplish.

The leather is barely pulled to mid thigh before the first strike lands, causing the flesh to quiver. Feet that have been pushing at the dirt now slip and go limp while her upper body tenses.

He strikes again, she grunts, a harsh sound in the back of her throat, holding her voice again, that won’t do.

Three more stinging slaps to that upturned flesh, three more before she cries out, three more before she stops struggling.

One more and she’s pressing her toes into the dirt to raise stinging flesh towards the next harsh touch of his palm. 

His hand falls again, she flinches at the gentle touch, expecting the rough and not the smooth, not expecting him to follow the curve down, fingers dipping to find her core, how hot she is here. He is teasing, stroking, overly gentle and ignorant of the way her hips tip further in invitation, resisting the urge to plunge fingers, wanting badly to have some part of him inside her.

The hand shift’s, callouses striking that little nerve centre in passing, she groans and it is honest, she groans and he growls before finally allowing one finger to sink into her cunt, thick and unrelenting to the last knuckle, and as he curls and strokes inside his mouth bends to her ear because he has to know.

“You are soaking Trevelyan”

She tightens around the invading digit, breath shudders and he knows a truth. He drags that finger back and forth, a merciless grind against that rough spot inside, he knows she can hear those wet sounds. 

Faster. Harder. She’s moving with him now, shame drifting, lust seeping in through her skin.

He waits until her breath stutters, then she’s empty, her cry frustrated then high pitched when his hand comes down, again and again, back and forth, painting more red over the blush he had left behind, enjoying the way she now lifts to those strikes, thighs parting as much as the leather about her them allows.

He’s inside her again as suddenly as before, and he fucking _loves_ the sound she makes, as though she has taken a strike to the gut. He doesn’t move now, letting the silence and stillness bloom like a nocturnal flower, and when he finally does speak she jerks against him in surprise.

“You’ll earn the first one because you wouldn’t behave. Make yourself come”

No response, she doesn’t understand or perhaps there is still a little shame left. No problem. He strikes again, palm stinging as fingers plunge again, two this time. He growls when he feels her stretch and she whines like the plucked string of a harp, feet scrabbling, hips finally shifting.

“More, fuck them”

She doesn’t have much leverage, but she’s strong,still determined. She gains the balance of her feet again and now she moves with purpose, her ass hitting his hand each time she pushes back, the returning need urging her on until there is a soft clapping of flesh meeting flesh.

He rewards her with a curl of those fingers and she all but ruts against him now. When she tightens around him harder than before he pumps them and she finally gives him that scream he’s been wanting, thighs wet and shaking, legs limp and head bowed.

He sits her up against his tent, her eyes are soft and fevered, her words an endorphin drugged murmur as he removes her boots and the leathers, still taking his time.

Thumbs stroking thighs apart again, he notes her arms, still behind her back, as though he had never let them go and that's hot enough to make him grip himself. An indulgent squeeze at the base, she's watching, lips parted.

“Keep them there”

She doesn’t ask what he means.

She keeps them there, even when he grabs her ankles and pulls her onto her back. Legs raised, hooked over shoulders and his thumbs are parting her folds, delicate coral twitching, glistening, inviting.

He is the beast she wants when he attacks her clit. Sucking, growling, tongue merciless and hungry, quick and hard flicks that make her howl at the moon. Teeth graze and she sings!

It doesn’t take long for the next flood of warmth to slip down her thighs and he bears down harder, nibbling at tortured nerve endings until she bucks against his mouth. Tongue flattens, broad sweeps that drink her, the agile twisting muscle burying itself as far as it can go.

Even this part of him she grips and he grants a preview, taking her with his tongue, squirming thrusts, fingers digging into hips as he moves her against him.

He slips free, hands shifting to part cheeks and he dares to divert his tongue to the tight pucker further back, just a few feathering strokes that cause her to gasp in shock. His laughter is the low sound of rocks rolling around in velvet.

She flinches when that tongue swipes her clit again. Too sensitive. Perfect. 

He makes her wail when he sucks the tiny throbbing nub between his lips again, sweet relentless pressure that has her fighting to get away and bucking hips at the same time until she floods his waiting mouth.

“Bull..wait..please”

She says his name like it’s a piece of driftwood she’s clinging to, and her grins because she really does say please like a lady.

He has a second, a moment where he see’s her life as it could have been. Buttoned up, buttoned down, chin tilted proud and demure at the same time. Laced skirts, laced up, morals as tight as her corsets. Eyes haughty, coy, disdainful, prim, knees locked together, nose in the air..

_His_ nose is pressed against her clit now as he plunges his tongue again, chasing the tail of her climax with enthusiasm because he likes this version of her better. Fingers sink in, parting and stretching her opening for his tongue to devour, flexing and bending seeking that spot.

Slick heat bathing his chin and he finally relents with one last sadistic sweep over her clit before he lays her down, finally drawing her hands out from beneath her.

She is soft eyed and not coherent to the rest of the world, existing only in the space he’s created now. She is his creature in this space, even if it is just the once, he’ll own a part of her.

Still on his knees he regards her now, remembering the day they met, the crazy bitch. He remembers her face wringing with sweat, half sprawled with one arm limp and useless at her side. He’d told her to stay down and she’d spat curses like sparks as she dragged herself up by her sword, pain etched in the pull of her mouth, resolve heavy as iron in her eyes.

Now she’s pliant, doe eyed, powerful thighs shaking like a newborn colts. He hasn’t taken her power, she has given it to him, if only to borrow.

He moves her as though she is spun glass, turning her over, hips gripped to pull her onto her knees. He barely has to touch between her shoulderblades in order to fold her upper body to ground. Her head rests on folded arms, soft, dreamlike.

He looms over her bent back, cock pressed to the crease of her ass, mouth at her ear.

“We aren’t done yet Trevelyan”

He slips her name into her ear as sinfully as he’d slipped his fingers inside her before and he hears the echo of her heavy breath trapped in the cave of her arms, the sound urging him on to loosen belts and let his pants fall heavily around his knees.

“I’m going to fuck you now Trevelyan, and you’re going to remember it the next time we meet, so i want you to know. No matter how well you think you can hide it, i’ll always be able to see it in your eyes when you suddenly remember how _this_ feels”

He holds himself ready and pushes into her, growling hard at the sight of her cunt gripping the flared head when it passes resistance. He enters her carefully, slowly and relentlessly, not stopping until there is nowhere left to go.

Her scream is caught in a groan, turning the sound into another predators call in the night. She tenses in fits around him. His cock is in a vice like furnace and he can feel pieces of himself falling away in shards, broken pottery unveiling lust in red.

He waits for her to adjust, almost unable to stand the stillness while his own muscles almost vibrate with the need to move inside her. Patience, she’s strong but you’re stronger, wait.

It is she who moves first, hips drawing tight circles, stirring him inside her, driving him crazy, still courting danger any way she can.

She tenses hard, on purpose. He snaps, dragon growl rolling in her ear as he pulls back, dragging against sensitive walls.

“I’m going to wring you dry Trevelyan, every...last..drop”

The last three words punctuated with deep, bone jarring thrusts. Hands scrabble at the ground, dirt between her knuckles as she shouts her pleasure into the fragrant night. Hips snap in short thrusts, buried deep in clenching velvet. 

A large hand slips down her belly, the rough pad of a finger questing lower until it finds that delicious collection of nerves. Pressing in, tight rapid circles, thick heat still taking its claim. She breaks again in a series of shivering sobs.

He snarls, coiling copper again and again in his fist as he rears and plunges. Her hair is soft and strong, like her. He pulls, she arches like a drawn bow and his hips slam against her ass because he’ll remember the sight of her spine bowing when he next sees _her_.

He cannot stop now, it has to hurt. But she’s using the last of her strength to meet his thrusts and the word stays tucked behind her lips.

Crazy bitch. Beautiful, relentless crazy bitch, just this once he owns her. Him. Iron **_fucking_** Bull.

She comes again when he shifts up on one knee, a deeper angle, hitting that spot, fingers pinching her clit.

“Again”

The word a rough growl, striking like a hand. Hips are bruising, he can’t stop watching the way her body swallows him again and again, the taut rein of her hair his anchor. She’s trying to shake her head, arms trembling under her weight, but the word stays hidden.

He pulls out of her body, it takes a lot of effort. She’s suddenly empty and suddenly in his arms, legs weak as they curl around him. That's okay, he has plenty of strength left. Strength enough to stand and kick away his pants, strength enough grip and lift her ass.

The very tip of him touches twitching heat. She clings to him, but not because she’s afraid she’ll fall.

“I said... _again”_

A hoarse groan envelopes that last word as he seats her on his cock. One long aching glide, the last inch or so thrust in sharply and she gives him what he wants, gasping and rocking against him.

Hands gripping her waist and ass, lifting her again, one more slow, tight push allowed before he grips harder and begins to thrust up into her weakened body. Flesh impacting flesh, loud and obscene.

She’s still trying, still relentless, barely any strength left and she’s still moving for him.

“One more Trevelyan”

“Please”

Yep. Still sounds like a lady.

He doesn’t know if it's a plea for mercy or more, he just knows it isn’t her word.

He does know that she barely has anything left in her now, but he can feel his balls tightening and his cock pulsing and he needs that last push of watching her come apart one last time. She needs a push to, a last spark, one more catalyst for one more reaction.

He knows.

Lips at her ear again, only this time he doesn’t growl. Words are a whisper, honey and dark chocolate in contrast to the harsh collision of bodies.

“Come, Angelique”

He may as well have throw a match into a barrel of gaatlok.

Thighs grip, and this time she growls. Teeth in his shoulder. **_Yes_**. Like that. Hips bucking out of control as she calls him a bastard. That hated name making her gallop like a whipped horse. He answers with a grind of his pelvic bone against her clit and she screams like something in her has broken.

That wildcat call is still echoing in the plains around them when he thrusts one final time and spills in steady aching pulses that drop him slowly to his knees, breath pushing against her shoulder in deep throated grunts.

She’s almost asleep by the time he’s carried her in the tent and laid out beside her. He doesn’t ask and she doesn’t refuse even as he fits his body behind hers. They will be friends in the morning, she will be armoured again and he will pretend he doesn’t know her secrets.

But tonight she sleeps with her head on his arm and the warmth of his hand splayed upon her belly.

 

In the morning he emerges and she is dressed, watching the birds fly over the water, she has not slunk away, not ashamed. The talk is easy and drawing towards a goodbye, but they take their time because the respect is earned and mutual.

She tells him she’s heading back to Ostwick, she wants to find her brother before he’s dragged into the steaming pile that Kirkwall left behind.

He tells her to stick to the hidden routes because he knows what she is travelling with just as he knows where his people are watching.

She embraces him like a soldier and he grips her ass for one last squeeze.

She calls him an arsehole, still laughing.

He tells her she does the cutest little dance with her feet when she comes.

She blushes, he laughs and then she is kissing him. It was the one thing he didn’t dare take from her, but now his mouth is filled with the taste of her and he groans into her mouth because there is absolutely nothing he needs to teach her about kissing.

A tug on one horn and he's down on his knees because some things are just appropriate. Still standing she bears down on him, tongue teasing, curling and fighting his own. He gives her the moment because she surprised him, because she earned it, because he guesses they are still counting.

She wins

 

 

Months later he drinks beside his men on the edge of another battle field. Horns up, another fight won, more killing to come. Honest work that doesn’t test their morals. Bad ends for bad men.

He doesn’t wonder if he’ll ever see her again. He knows where she’ll be, just as he knew last time.

Ben-Hassrath.

Every once in awhile he looks to his pack and grins, never answering when they ask him why. The silken rope has been dipped in dye and dried out before it was neatly folded and tucked into the bottom of his pack.

Just in case. Because she looks _damn_ fine in red.

 

**END**


End file.
